


Guilt By Association

by Romancelover646



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 12:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20257846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romancelover646/pseuds/Romancelover646
Summary: It was supposed to be a normal day. I guess I should have know better.





	Guilt By Association

My eyes slowly fluttered open, the sun’s rays glaring into my eyes as if to say “Wake up you lazy piece of shit!” I could practically hear my father's voice but had long since learned how to ignore it. The voice was now a regular part of my routine and while it wasn't ideal, it was something I knew I was going to have to live with. My therapist said otherwise, but she thought they were getting less frequent; I refused to tell her that in fact, they were getting more and more common with each passing day. I rolled forward into a seated position, rubbing the crust of the morning out of my eyes. 

My legs swing off the bed only to land into my slippers which are just waiting to warm my toes at the foot of my bed, in the same place they have been everyday in the two years I’ve been living here. I walk towards the light switch, three paces in front and two to the left. I turn it on and then back off again, repeating this motion three times consecutively till the lights turn back on and then walk towards the washroom where I get ready-brush, shower, change and then repeat twice. It’s 9:06 now and I hurry towards the kitchen, I can feel the cool tile beneath my feet, making sure not to touch the cracks in between each tile. I down a bowl of cereal and head out the door.

I walk outside at 9:21 to see the mailman dropping the mail in the mailbox, the woman in the pink sweatshirt leaving the apartment to walk her dog and the security guard reading a magazine, waiting to check people into the building. Making sure to avoid any cracks on the sidewalk, I head towards the nearby coffee shop where Michael, my regular barista, stands behind the counter in his long brown apron, and cafe-regulated sports cap. I walk towards where he stands, my order, never changing, already in his hands. 

I can smell the coffee on his breath as he says to me “Morning Sasha! How’s your day been so far?” He places my coffee on the counter in front of me as he waits for me to sanitize my hands and the cup the coffee sits in. 

“Eh, same old, same old, dreading work though, have meetings all day today. What about you?”I pick up my coffee and take three sips successively.  
“Here till noon, then have classes till about three. Pretty boring really. Anyway, I should get going, see ya tomorrow Sasha.” 

He turns to tend to another customer and I head back outside. 

I continue my long trek towards my office. There is a faint scent of smoke and smog around me, a smell which never seems to leave the city. In front of me sits a quaint little cafe with tables littered about outside Umbrellas sit fashionably above tables in an attempt to keep the sun's rays from disturbing any conversation. As though rebelling from the cafe, the wall just ahead is littered with street art, full of large bold drawings, loopy, colorful words and the dark profanity laying on top. Just looking at the wall made me feel unclean, but avoiding it meant taking another route to work, and the thought of such a change made my insides swell up and sweat break across my forehead. 

I passed the foul smelling hot dog cart, that I am sure must be in violation of about a dozen health code violations. I see a large chunk of hair stuck into the edge of the cart, ketchup, mustard and relish carelessly thrown around, mould beginning to grow out from underneath the ledge where the drinks stand, and i’m standing almost two feet away. 

I tap my fingers against my thigh, three times on one side, and three times on the other. I repeat this motion twice more as I walk past the hoards of people waiting in line for the magazine cart standing next to the hot dog stand. I guess it’s the perfect place, while waiting for a hot dog- grab a magazine and relax, it’s a win-win situation for both owners. 

I continue past the cart, towards the large sign outside an old restaurant claiming to have ‘The Best Burgers in New York City!’ The store is run down, it’s been here for years, a calming presence in the midst of all the development. I walk past the restaurant and am heading past an alley when I hear it. At first I think my ears are deceiving me, the sound is so faint, but the sound comes again, and again and again. Someone trying to scream, maybe? That is what it sounds like in movies. The sound is muffled,which means I can barely hear it. What is it's nothing, i'll be late for work over a stupid sound and my whole schedule would be messed up. But what if it’s something real? What if someone is actually hurt, maybe I should probably go check it out? I look down at my phone and see the time- 9:47, i'm already two minutes late, I should have already been passing by the pharmacy at this time. 

I hear another muffled scream coming from the alley. 

I creep forward and see stacks of empty boxes and crates, haphazardly thrown around. Three large, industrial sized garbage bins line the walls, but there is still garbage littered everywhere. I see more than hear the rats scurrying around, doing their best to look for any scraps of food they can find. I can’t see anyone, but the muffled sound of someone yelling was becoming more pronounced. I twisted my neck slightly to the left, trying to see more, when something flashy catches my eye. At first glance, it looks like a knife, but when I look closer, it’s just a bracelet on the woman's hand. That’s when I see it, wriggling and punching the woman’s side, but never leaving the flesh, as though attached by a chord. It is a gun. Small and black, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it if the man didn’t keep digging it into her side, threatening to shoot if she didn’t give him her money, wallet, shoes and jewellry. Her face is masked with terror,eyes full of fear and sweat dripping down her forehead. It’s the middle of summer,and the fear seems to be making things worse.

With just my eyes, I look down at the phone sitting innocently in the outside pocket of my purse. ButI remain frozen in my spot, my brain yelling at me to move, to do something, but my limbs don’t respond. It’s like I am trapped in my own body, and its betraying me by letting my fear take over. 

I try to move my legs, make them start working, instead, I shut down, all at the sight of one little gun. The woman hands over her purse and begins to remove all her jewellry. She slides the diamond studded bracelet off her delicate wrist and slides it into the mugger’s awaiting hands. The necklace is the next to come off before the final piece of the woman's set- her wedding ring. I can hear her beg and plead but it sounds as though I am trapped in a tub of jello and the sounds of the woman’s screams are trying to permeate through. He ignores her, not caring for her screams. 

His muscles flex in annoyance and he raises the hand with the gun over her head and brings it crashing back down. The woman drops down, as though having heard a bomb, and it feels like time has stopped. The man moves to pick up the purse lying at his feet, makes sure the wallet is inside, dumps the phone and runs out of the back alley, tugging off the cap covering the entirety of his face as he went. It is only when he disappears that time begins again. I look down to see myself furiously tapping my legs, three times on one leg, and three times on the other in a continuous loop. I can’t seem to stop it.

I rush towards the woman lying on the ground, an open gash bleeding from her head. I take out my cell phone and see my hands gritty with dirt. I want to clean them, but it'll have to wait. I call 911, informing them of everything i just witnessed, where I am, and the condition of the woman. I take out the package of tissues from my purse and gently begin to dab at the wound and apply some pressure just as the woman told me. My foot twitches continuously as I stay in that position until the police and ambulance arrive. 

They arrive in a flurry of activity, sirens blaring and people shouting instructions left and right. I can almost picture the day, so many years ago as the paramedics come forward and begin to load the woman into the stretcher. Another comes towards me and begin to ask me questions.

“ What is your name? Where do you live? Do you know where you are?” They come at me quickly, first from the paramedics who determine I am in shock, and then the police who ask me questions I never have the answers too.

“Who is the woman? Do you know what happened? Did you witness the event?” I see my blood-soaked reflection in a piece of glass innocently sitting on the wall opposite of myself. 

“Why didn’t you help her before she was hurt?”

The sad truth is, that I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe if I had, the woman wouldn’t be in this position, she wouldn’t be in the hospital, she wouldn’t have lost her wedding ring, and she definitely wouldn’t have been lying on the ground, rats scurrying along her legs, bugs in her hair as she slowly bleeds, the only person for company- the woman who witnessed the entire event, and didn’t even lift a finger to help.   
I curl into a ball, not even caring that my clothes are dirty, that I probably have blood all over my clothes or that i’m sitting in the middle of an alley. I am reminded of the day so similar to this one, the same sunny day, the same routine, until it all went to hell. My fingers cover my face as tears pour out of my eyes, just the reminder sending painful shocks into my system. 

Someone comes towards me, I can hear their footsteps and smell their perfume, such a contrast to the rotting smells of a dumpster. A tissue is wiggled in front of my face and I reach out to grab it, wiping my tears and the grime from my face. The lady, an officer judging by her uniform, crouches down next to me and says   
“It wasn’t your fault you know. There was nothing you could have done. He had a gun and if you had done anything, you probably would have been shot as well.” I don’t make any movement, but tears continue to slowly stream down my face.

“It’s my fault.” I tell the officer. 

She looks at me with pity in her eyes and says “ You did a good thing calling us. Without you, that lady would have died. Don’t be so hard on yourself because it’s not your fault, not even a little.” A sense of deja vu engulfs me as I think back to everything that has happened, everything I have faced. 

I look up at the lady, my face blank, a tear dripping down my face, and all I can think to say is “But it is though.”


End file.
